Raindrops, catch me if you can
by Paradox on wings
Summary: Lily is Lily, the girl in the back who's scribbling frantically on a piece of paper, the one with the hidden tears, hidden laughter, and hidden things in general, who wages war against life or with it. What more is to be said?
1. Confessions

**Raindrops—catch me if you can**

_**Chapter 1: Confessions**_

The world was spinning.

I know what you're thinking: _Well no shit, Sherlock._

I should make it clearer.

My world was spinning out of control.

The Death Eaters and Voldemort had finally been bumped up to an imminent threat in 6th year, people everywhere were dying, and the newspaper blared, "MURDER!" every single time that you skipped the headlines and the front page because it was so damned depressing. The obituaries took up one half of the whole paper.

After the whole fifth year fiasco, James started acting nicer, less conceited, more wise. A major shocker, I know. James Potter, the infamous prat who could charm off your pants—and quite literally too—an intellect?

I tell no lies. And I swear to God, I had been so amused and amazed at this.

Once James had gotten past himself, I found myself liking him more and more—it wasn't long before we had become friends.

He understood me, James Potter, with that messy black hair and smirkish smile, knew what I wanted to say through my babbled words. And so, with his influence, I not only become friends with him, but with the rest of the Marauders as well, considering them all to be my brothers. But while making all these new relationships, the ties between my sister and I continued to become more strained. I knew it wasn't long before it would totally snap and twang off into little pieces, flying in the air, and never to be regained.

But it's not like I cared, anyway.

It was a godsend every summer when I got to get away from her.

Where was I? Ah yes, my world felt like it was crumbling. In fact, I think everyone's was. We had all begun our phase with our severe crushes and broken hearts, Christina, Mai and I all having our share of boy problems. Confused in our delusions of love, giggling, sighing, weeping, crying, beaming rays of happiness and all that. Ah well.

Mai probably got the worst of all of our problems, as her mother was a Muggle, and if Slytherins hated people who were pure non-magical at first, they loathed half-and-halves even more, going on about their, "pureness and sacredness" shit.

Mai was a Chinese-Canadian, and was proud of it, thank you very much. She was loud, and always spoke her mind, so she'd often get in trouble for what slipped out of her mouth. She was free-willed, spirited, wanted to break the rules, and dared to most of the time, leaving me to stare at her in awe.

She was spontaneous, like firecrackers going off all the time, and yet every single one surprised you. She was opinionated, down-to-earth (most of the time), sarcastic, witty, optimistically happy in a hyper sense and perverted, somewhat. Her life dream was to meet a gay guy. Preferably a Japanese one.

You did not hear me wrong. That's who she was, and if you hated it, then in all honesty, she could care less. She didn't give a damn about society's ways. The thing with Mai was, you either loved/admired her or hated her with a vengeance.

Christina was the more pragmatic of us all, calm and serene, and so effing scary when she was hyper, causing everyone to stare at her while she let out high-pitched voices, talking about shooting/castrating random people or whatnot. She was one hell of a debater and violin player, a whiz at all the classical kind of things. We often teased her, calling her the Renaissance Woman, as lame as that was.

We were all nerds. And if you have any objections, you can stick your hand down your throat.

She listened to music that I would classify as soft pop, along with the occasional Beethoven and Bach, and (the horrors) alternative rock. (I think I had more of corrupted her rather than helped her when it came to some of her more out there-ish tastes. i.e. Three Days Grace, The Exies… Yeah…) Christina was orderly, tidy, her brown hair tied in a neat ponytail, bun, whatever. And on those rare occasions when she let her long hair down, it was like a shimmering chocolate water fall, the one I would imagine would look like from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, only prettier and more glinting of other colors. She was perceptive, her blue-grey eyes would stare at you in a way where you felt you were being scrutinized, but in a friendly sense.

They were my sisters, they kept me on Earth, as I was a dreamer, a trait I got from my father, as well as my green eyes and red hair. I was a walking oxymoron: the calm, psychopath bitchy freak that was nice, the girl who wanted to kick ass in baggy cargo pants and a t-shirt, and to be whisked off, staring out at the sunset with a significant other. I was a hopeless romantic. Christina and Mai laughed at me for it, rolling their eyes while I composed little bits of fluff I had grasped from the air, yet enjoying it as much as I did. I was also an avid runner, as it felt so awesome, the way you turned into liquid and were poured onto the sidewalk, glistening, and those two joined me, jogging. Whenever I start to, it's like my problems are melting away and the world becomes somewhat more stable, I can deal with things and think through it all.

Think through all my feelings, too. And as sad as it is, I don't know what to think anymore.

They're all confusing and swirling these days that I can't think straight.

It's pretty scary, actually. Maybe not to some people, but it is to me.

And I have absolutely no idea why.

I just don't like how I'm falling apart.

6th year was full of quirks, good ones and bad ones, and I experienced them all with my friends by my side.

Life was funny. And extremely ironic. The kind of funny where you're practically crying at first, and then when your look back, you start smiling. That's where irony comes in. Or, if the whole ordeal had been ironic in the first place, irony reappeared.

Either way, irony and reality had slapped us full in the face.

Some of us were ready for it. Well, more like everyone else was, except for me. I don't know why it had hurt as badly—I mean, I wasn't the one who actually _had_ relatives who liked the prospect of offing Muggles (Sirius), nor was I like Christina, whose aunt was in St. Mungo's because of an attack, and even less, Mai, who got all that bitchy karma from the Slytherins (and managed to flick them off with a high-pitched giggle). It had hit me, and I had stumbled and fell splat onto the ground. That's where he found me.

And he had given me a smile, offered to help me up, and that moment I took his extended hand, I fell for him. Him, with his questioning eyes, his curving, crooked smile, that mysterious personality, his dark beauty—everything.

He had dazzled me, inspired me, frustrated me, vexed me, miffed me and just shook me up and twirled me around in general, like that day I had spun with him, our arms crossed over each others, spinning and swirling over and over in the grass until we had tripped and stumbled, staring up at the sky in our dizziness.

Everything to me, except what I wanted him to do.

Hold me, and to never let go, asking me to be his.

Maybe if I had opened by mind to reality more often, I would have seen what I was looking for. Maybe, if I had, I would have seen what I completely dreaded. And maybe, I should be satisfied and decide to when I want to, and just leave it at that.

It was my choice. But I had no idea what to choose.

That's pretty much what it had become, indecision, if's, maybe's all converging into this swirling mass.

My name is Lily Evans. This is my story, my life, my existence.

Whatever you do…

…don't close your mind.


	2. Little secrets

**Raindrops—Catch me if you can**

_**Chapter 2: Little secrets**_

7th year, as they said, was supposed to be the best time of our lives. The lucky number seven, the final year of our magic education, and then we'd leave at 17/18, to finally live on our own, and finally to wander off free in the "real world."

And, as they say, freedom has its price.

I guess we had only heard the first general consensus, and we either ignored (or were not paying attention/sleeping during) the second. A big mistake on our part.

But I digress slightly, and I'll not spoil the story of my little, lovely existence. We did our best to make sure that 7th year would be the best. We (we being Mai, Christina, and I) had set a week before the day school started devoted to shopping, dining, and lodging in Diagon Alley. Almost like a girl's night out for seven whole nights (and days) in Las Vegas, only cheaper, dingier, and severely lacking in neon lights and strip clubs, i.e.—nonexistent. Nevertheless, I was going to have fun. And no one, not even Petunia, was going to stop me.

.x.

"LILY!" someone screeched. "UP! Get up! Now!"

I started and opened my eyes wearily, staring at the dark ceiling when that same someone threw open my window curtains to let the sunlight come bursting in. I twisted away and started cursing. My eyes were at least temporarily blinded.

"Jesus Christ, try knocking next time, won't you?"

"Shut up. I want everything to be perfect when he gets here."

She left as abruptly as she came in.

Ah. Dear, dear Petunia. Believe it or not, she and I used to be close. The kind where we stayed up at night, giggling about our day, where we'd go everywhere holding each others hands, afraid that if we did let go, we'd lose each other. She was my big sister, and I looked up to her, because she seemed so much bigger, seemed to know so much more, possess so much more wisdom. She was patient with me and protected me and always stood up for me. At first when I got my Hogwarts letter, my parents had to use nearly all means to keep her from announcing to the neighborhood that her little sister was a witch who could do far more than pull a rabbit from her hat.

"For my birthday, Lily, can you show them what you can do? Can you change that Brian's hair pink? I hate him. Would you do that for me?"

And then, as always, things changed. She and I started to fight and started to scream names, and no day passed by without our mother shaking her head when she sent us to our rooms, asking why we couldn't get along like we used to.

Her fiancé, Vernon, was coming in today. The one who she wanted everything to be perfect for. The one who was the epitome, the paragon of rich, white, pompous males in our society. It worked, though, because Petunia was the perfect, Stepford wife who would keep a house that could be featured in some magazine like, _Rich people and their super-clean, so-white-it-blinds-you houses!_

They had been engaged for two months, together for four years. My parents (well, my mum) couldn't wait 'til the wedding, yet were reluctant to let her go. To be honest, I was slightly sad too, because of all the reasons I disliked her, I still loved her (she was my sister for God's sake) and I couldn't let go of those days when we actually enjoyed each other's company and weren't screaming ourselves hoarse.

I could tell right now if I ever did come to love a boy, my first "boyfriend," my first "significant other" (I wish they'd come up with something better), I'd have lots of trouble moving on. My parents (well, my mum again) were slightly worried about my situation because I, at the age of 16, hadn't even shown an interest in boys, much less a boyfriend or a fiancé. Hence, my mother's continual attempts at matchmaking.

"Lily dear," she' say. "Lily, I've just met Mrs. What's-her-name and she has this delightful son, you two really should meet—"

"Mum?"

"—you wouldn't believe how similar you two are. He's a smart boy, you know, applying for Oxford, with all honors and such."

"Mum?"

"So I've decided to invite Mrs. What's-her-name and her son for tea so you could meet him."

"Mum, do I have to wear formal clothing?"

"Casual would be fine, Lily, though you really should wear that cute skirt I bought for you at—"

"Are you going to make those teeny pastries?"

"...Yes, why?"

"Oh, they're just a consolation to me. Don't worry, I'll keep breath mints at hand."

"Did I tell you her son is also an excellent dancer?"

"Cucumber sandwiches?"

"Yes, Lily. Why?"

"Consolation."

Only now does this seem to take an effect. "Wait...what?"

The only reason I put up with my mother's "teas" is because of the great food she makes for them. I usually tie a bit of ribbon or a belt around my stomach so that I won't eat a lot, a way of limiting how much I take in, because I have no willpower whatsoever. If I eat too much, the ribbon or belt will slightly push against my belly, and then I'll stop. But it never works, because I find myself going to the bathroom when the ribbon gets tight, untie it, and then head back to the dining room to eat more. It's pretty sad, but whatever. Cream puffs definitely outweigh my health and fitness. Almost literally.

All of my mother's attempts have been unsuccessful, thank God. There was this one guy I actually kind of liked, but during our "time to get to know each other by ourselves," where our mothers ran off to squeal how perfect we were for each other, he told me he was gay, which kind of nipped any chance of romance right in the bud and we became good friends instead. I think he's in California now, fighting for gay marriages and protesting against the homophobic acts of society.

And I'm the delusional red-headed girl with green eyes, wandering wonderingly around on the twisted paths of life. It's a weird world, n'est-ce pas?

Hah. I can't wait until Diagon Alley with Mai and Christina. I keep staring at my alarm clock, and I swear the minutes are passing by slower and slower. I still have 180 of those minutes to wait.

Please, please may I be able to keep my precious little sanity I have left for three hours.

.x.

_I've barred myself in my room to escape all the toxic, chemical fumes of the bleach and the cleaning detergent. It's typical to want the house looking nice and neat if your fiancé comes in, right? But to disinfect the whole house? Come on, Petunia. Give us a break._

I put down my pen and stared at my ceiling, now bright from the sunshine that wasn't so blinding anymore (but the contrast from total darkness to streaming sunlight is pretty sharp, and that's my excuse).

Now that I think about it, Vernon was one of those intimidating people, where you tried to be friends with him, were friends with him, or threw your dislike in his face because you had the gall and power to deal and fight him and his little sycophants. He was the one you'd see at this gambling table in a rich, luxurious, opulent room with red, velvet curtains and gold hangings, drinking a cocktail and laughing with all of his rich business associates. Everything looks normal—the stereotypical rich men's night out, where they'd later drive home in their Ferraris back to their million dollar mansions. But if you go in deeper, you'll see that Vernon isn't gambling. And he's only going to have that one drink, and after that, he's going to call a taxi to call him home just in case. He's so bloody conventional and perfect it pisses me off, with his impeccable taste and his suits all stiff and starched. It reminds me of how I was jealous of Petunia because of her beautiful, straight blonde hair, and her clear blue eyes.

I was always a jealous person. Oh, I've taken those quizzes where it asks, "Are you a jealous person?" and I always get the, _"You don't have a green shred in your body!"_

But quizzes don't know anything. Because I do. I just try my best to push it aside and be a person who isn't jealous and only feels untainted happiness for the winners. But it's there. I know it. I hate myself for it, especially when I find myself wanting to blame them for all my jealousy, thinking that if they could just fall down, if they weren't so perfect, I could actually be better than they were. I find myself wanting to snatch away what I'm envious of and run off with it. I want everything for my own. So not only am I filled with envy, but with greed and selfishness, too. And like a clown, I hide it and bury it under all my smiles and congratulations so that I look like the caring person that I always wanted to be but wasn't.

My ears perk up at the sound of the doorbell, and I soon realize that it's Vernon from Petunia's voice, not screaming (for once today), but happy, and Vernon sounds equally ecstatic too. I'm jealous of the love those two have too. Perfect love between two perfect people. Perfect love where Petunia would kiss Vernon's cheek before he left to work each morning, and he'd give her a peck on the lips, and say a "Goodbye dear." At work, he'd do his best to get a promotion to use the extra money to buy those window curtains he saw her fingering at the store the other day; while she'd be at home, cleaning and cooking, wanting everything to be just right when he came back.

I envied how those two had a reason to be pompous, how they both could have people wanting to be their friends. How they could deal with their enemies cleanly, brush off their insulting remarks with just a few cool words, curt and polite. If it was me in their place, I knew my temper would be all in a flare and I'd be threatening to punch them or something, words spilling out of my mouth and meaning nothing at all. Just like a child. Petunia had grown up long before I did. No. I take that back. Petunia had grown up, and I hadn't even yet.

Petunia was like glittery, metallic silver, entrancing, pretty, warm and nice to the touch if she liked you and kept you close, cool and distant and unattainable if she didn't. I was charred black, confused, full of everything and nothing, a dark, filled void that made no sense and that no one wanted to enter because they'd only get lost. I never let anyone enter anyway. It would be cruel to let them in. And I had always felt overshadowed by Petunia, where I'd see her prettiness and I'd see my blackness. I felt like she outshone me, as younger siblings mostly do, I guess. When I got my Hogwarts letter, I realized this was the first time I'd ever gotten anything better than she had. Me, Lily Evans, had the ability to do magic, and my picture perfect sister, the one with the looks, the style, the serenity, and the charm to impress and capture the hearts of all, didn't.

I was proud of myself, where I knew that for once in my life, I was better and I was more talented and I had beaten her—in this one aspect, I was better. When she nearly bragged to everyone, I felt even better, because I knew then that it was something she wouldn't mind having either, something she would take pride in if she had it.

It was later, when I started growing up, that I realized how bad my thoughts were, how jealousy and pride consumed me, how envious I was of everyone. It wasn't until later when I realized that maybe, at one time, I had been that pretty silver, but my jealousy tainted it, my pride tarnished it, and the twistedness and mere sin of my thoughts changed my color to black.

I still acted innocent, still acted good, still acted golden, but all along, I knew I was lying. And maybe my lying only made my color darker and darker, more irreversible, but I couldn't force myself to banish the jealousy, I could only pretend it wasn't there. I was just a mask, now, just a shell, now, a nothingness that everyone thought was something until they peered closer. Not even Mai and Christina knew.

It was so funny and depressing how easily they were all deceived.

Maybe Petunia had seen through me. Maybe that's why she started to hate me, to give me those disgusted looks. Maybe I was too clingy. I don't ever seem to let go. I'll never know, though, because I'll never ask, scared that she'd only hate me even more and tell everyone else of my ugliness. I think I was born forever scared of what others thought of me.

My mother knocks on my door and tells me that it's time to eat, and that after that, I should pack up to get ready to go. Oh goodness. Have I not packed yet? It may be just the swish of a wand to get ready (I love magic), but I procrastinated a lot, didn't I? With two hours left to go…

I dress up slightly, with a pair of slacks and a nice blouse, black socks. My mum doesn't believe in wearing shoes inside the house—Vernon's gotten used to it and doesn't mind. Once, Mai and Christina came over, and when Mai stepped in, she immediately spotted my shoes by the doorway, and started laughing hysterically.

"Mfgah!" she choked out. "Your mum's _Chinese_? But the blonde hair?"

Half-Chinese. I got my almond-shaped eyes from my mother, and she got it from her mother. My mum was just like Mai in that sense—a mix. Everything else was different though. My mother tended to be quiet and reserved, but she was smooth and fluid, all of these traits that Petunia inherited. But, when my mother got mad, she was flaring, fiery, like the tiger, her animal of the Zodiac. She over-analyzed things, tried to milk out meanings that weren't even existent. And that's what I got from her. Except the Zodiac symbol. I was the horse.

I walk down the stairs and see everyone else sitting down already, just chatting, talking about their lives and what's going on. I take my place between my mother and father, the only empty space. Everyone knows where to sit at the dining table—it's almost perfunctory, because everyone sits at the exact same place every time. It's a round table, something my father really, really wanted. "Like King Arthur and his knights," he used to tell me. "No one was better than the other. They were all equal under their will to do what was right." My father liked to analyze things too. I guess it was just a character trait we all got, thinking about random things to distract us from some of the less pleasing sides of life. Like my imperfection. I told my dad about it once, about how I felt like I never was going to be good enough.

"No one's ever perfect, sweetie."

_But what about you, dad? You seem perfect. And what about Mum? She seems perfect. And both of you two's perfection comes together in Petunia, and I'm the most imperfect of all._

I sit at our little round table, Petunia next to Dad, Vernon next to Mum. For now, I am just like them, looking perfect in our slightly formal, casual clothing, being a part of the conversation, laughing, joking, adding to the happiness. For now, I am the ideal. For now, I am equal to all of them. And later, when I stare at the stars from my bed at night, the idealistic scene will fade away, the mask will melt away, and I'll realize my true self and reality will come back to haunt me again.

.x.

After we all finish our ice cream, Vernon stays a bit longer and talks to everyone else. But it's time for me to go. I quietly tiptoe my way up to my room and am about to wave my wand when I remember—I'm not supposed to do magic, am I? We had gotten our little notices that said we shouldn't do any magic of any kind, but this was so little, it wouldn't really count, would it? Despite all my reasoning, I hesitated still. I really didn't want to have something on my record, and didn't want it to be on there because I was stupid and wanted to save time. But if I were one of the Marauders, or Mai, even (Christina not counting because she would've been ready long beforehand)…But no, Mai would just beg her Dad to do the magic for her, Remus would probably be in the same situation as Christina, and Peter would've been too timid to get in trouble as well. That left James and Sirius. Sirius would yawn, not even give a care in the world, and flick his wand and get it all done and over with. James, however… He popped up in my mind right then, his goofy black hair all in a mess, his hazel eyes dancing. _Go on. No one cares. It doesn't matter. And wouldn't it be just hilarious if you _did_ get in trouble? Lily Evans, Miss Perfect, Miss Stick-up-for-slimy-Snivellus with a line of dirty, black writing on her otherwise spotless record: Broke the no-magic rule because she wanted to save time in packing._

_Shut up, James. No one likes you._ I start searching around the room for my schoolbooks, and my quills, my ink, my socks, my underwear, and everything else I need to pack.

_Oh, that hurts deep down somewhere._ He holds places his hands above his heart tragically, as if he's been struck. _Those piercing words struck me numb. I'm going to go cry now, and kill myself. On my suicide note, I'm going to blame everything on you._

_Jerk. Don't say that._

_Fine. I'm not going to commit suicide and condemn you to hell, I'm going to be emo and express my hurt feelings by c—_

_Stop. Don't say that either. It's mean, cruel, and you don't even know what you're talking about._

_Ohhh so Miss Stand-up-for-slimy-Snivellus is now also Miss Stand-up-for-depressed-emo-kids?_

_James, I know a whole lot more about this than you do._

I stop talking to him right after that, even if it is in my head, and force myself to think of something else. I can't believe I just held a mental conversation with James Potter. If it was real, he'd probably give me a smirk, and raise his eyebrows, as if to say, "Ah yeah?"

Yeah.

I walk to my desk, scrounge around for a few good pens, because quills can be bloody annoying, throw them in my backpack, next to my journal, zip up my backpack, and shoulder it on. Turning around, I grab my suitcase, and when I turn back again, I catch my reflection in my mirror. It's one of those full-length kinds, built into the inside face of the door of my wardrobe, so that I can check out potential outfits when I'm rummaging around for something to wear. I see a girl with messy red-hair and weirdly shaped green eyes. A light spray of freckles across her nose, two, thick-ish black straps that seem to divide her arms from her torso against a dark gray t-shirt that has a rough sketch of a star in white. A hand holding a black, rolling suitcase, dangling next to a pair of faded blue jeans. Soon to be matched up with a pair of gray Converses. This is me, this is Lily Evans, simple and in shades of combinations of black and white. My red hair and my green eyes speak louder than everything else. The little moth who tries to slip away but never really does. It's almost ironic, somehow.

I close the door to my wardrobe and make my way downstairs after I close my door. It's sort of weird to think of my room as abandoned when I'm gone, where hardly anyone goes in at all and nothing comes out. My posters left untouched on the wall, my desk unwritten upon, my bed unruffled, my carpet clean, and everything dormant until I come back and start inhabiting it again. It's almost like it's hibernating, sleeping, and will awake when I return. Whether it makes me feel good or depressed, I haven't figured out yet.

I go into the dining room where everyone's still talking, and I say goodbye to my parents. Even Petunia tells me to, "Have fun."

"Thanks."

We smile at each other, and I immediately remember the childhood we used to share together. Vernon smiles too, and says, "It was nice talking to you, again, Lily. Be careful out there."

Does he know where I'm going? Has Petunia told him who, what, I am? Either he does know, or he's so good at hiding his confusion that he can just take my hand and give it a good shake without any uncertainty or hesitation whatsoever.

They all walk me to the door. And as I head out and start walking to the end of the street, they all wave again in their chorus of "Bye's" and farewells, and their hopes and wishes on my part.

Why the end of the street? I didn't want Petunia to get mad for showing my little secret to Vernon, because she may have not told him, and I didn't want to spoil the pleasant truce we had created for right then. I didn't want them to see me raise my wand hand in the middle of the street, as if I was hailing some invisible taxicab that was magically waiting for me. Nor did I want them to see the huge, purple bus that would screech in, or just see me walk up some invisible flight of stairs and disappear altogether. They'd think it'd be weird, they'd think that it'd be crazy, they'd think they're insane, and that I'm insane. They'd think everything that happened was their imagination, was…

Oh. But they're right, aren't they?

Because that's what it is, isn't it? Magic.

And magic always needs her veil of secrecy.

.x.

The usual disclaimer and suchness. Sorry it took so long to write, but with school and GPA and school, who has the time?

Hope you guys enjoyed this one. Give feedback, as usual.


	3. Going back

**Raindrops—Catch me if you can**

_Chapter 3: Going back_

Maybe we were just meant to dream, to be here in the middle of the void and the pregnancy of night. The perfect mix of caring and sharing and kindness all swirled into one wide embrace that covered us so that we could be free to do whatever we wanted.

Actually, I'm not sure what I'm talking about either.

But that was the wonderful thing about walking alone by yourself at night. The words you thought just flowed forth from you, and no one asked any questions, just took it in and thought about it, mulling it over.

Because someway, somehow, you just got the feeling that the grass, the sky, the stars—they all understood, and welcomed you for it.

Or maybe I'm dreaming again. It happens often.

The streets were empty and dark—everyone else was at home, spending time with their families in the brightly shining houses that were lined in a row. And I was alone, dragging my luggage along, my shadow lengthening as I got farther and farther away from the lamplight I had passed awhile ago. It was starting to fade into the darkness of the sidewalk, like it was trying to disappear and run off to furtively explore something else rather than stick here with me.

Honestly, I was boring, despite the fact that I was a witch. I never dared to do anything truly _different_, because I was trying to beat Petunia, I was trying so hard to strive for the perfection that I could never seem to reach, I was trying to make my parents proud and make them happy, I was trying to please myself and finally be satisfied and content.

But it never worked. I could never become one with _them_.

_Stop being so emo, Evans_. That's what Mai would say, with a roll of her eyes, and a giggle.

Feh. Mai. She was a complicated one. But aren't we all? Cynical, but funny, and hardly ever serious. It made me wonder about her—if she ever got depressed, if she ever felt sad and wanted someone to talk to, if she ever actually felt any of the blows the Slytherins tried to land on her.

I remember once, she had been running down the halls of Hogwarts, broad grin across her face, her hair in pigtails, tugging at the robes of random people, asking, "LET'S NOT GROW UP, OKAY?"

When I took her by the shoulders and tried to calm her down, she started giggling and couldn't stop. Except her giggling scared me, because it was almost hysterical, like someone who was trying to laugh something off, but was going to cry instead.

I tried getting her to talk to me, but she didn't stay still, and sprinted through the halls, calling over her shoulder, "I'll see you later, Lily!"

I left her alone, thinking she probably wanted some time alone to herself. But I probably should have chased her down to talk about what was going on, how she was feeling.

But it was too late now. I was standing in the dark night and she was God-knows-where. And Christina…she had bouts of depression sometimes, I couldn't really be shaken from them. It scared me during those times, because I was afraid she would do something desperate, but she assured me that she wouldn't, because she was "afraid of blood and sharp objects." And I wasn't one to talk, anyway.

We were all pretty much a screwed up bunch.

But I guess all teenagers are. It's the beauty of being one. The weird ones in a weird, dysfunctional world.

I was reaching the end of all the lit houses, and the stars seemed to shine brighter and more brilliantly than usual. Maybe it was because they no longer had to compete with the garish luminosity of artificial light. The problem with the suburbs was that all the house lights dimmed out the stars—it was like the flamboyance of humanity was trying to outdo Mother Nature, who wasn't even competing at all, and content to take things as they were and are.

Or maybe I'm over-analyzing.

I loved the stars. They kept laughing at me, at my depressing thoughts, and begged me to cheer up and be more optimistic. Sometimes at night, when everyone in the house was asleep, I'd sneak out and lie in the front driveway, gazing up at those twinkling masses. Sometimes I'd dance under them, music pulsing through my blood, my soul, and I'd reach up towards them, imagining how it'd be to be so hopeful and naive and innocent like they were.

Hopelights. I had made that word up one day when I had sneaked out to dance, the darkness hugging me, the stars as my audience, applauding and twinkling with all their might. They were like the beacons of a lighthouse, but they called the hopeful, wishing wanderer to a place where she belong, reminding me that life wasn't only depressing and sad, and that living was simple, actually, simple and clear and everything in between.

And right then, at the end of the street right there, I shrugged off my backpack and dropped my suitcase, and started to swirl and dance around. Because life was full of hidden surprises. Because life was full of mystery. Because life was sweet and bitter and salty and bland, because I had to experience it all. Because the end to everything was happiness. Because I was me and the stars were who they were, and nothing in the world could change that.

Because there was always something to celebrate and dance about after all.

.x.

Despite the number of times I've ridden the Knight Bus, I still had the steady myself when the bright purple bus popped up when I stuck out my wand (right) hand.

I guess to be able to hail the Knight Bus without a blink was a "I-was-born-seeing-huge-bright-purple-buses-popping-up" thing rather than an acquired skill.

"Hello! My name is Kimberley!" said an enthusiastic girl who walked down the steps of the Knight Bus. I nodded and pretended to listen as she listed the fares.

"How much is plain, normal fare without anything?"

"11 sickles," said the girl happily.

I searched through my pockets and gave her the money, and then walked onto the bus, finding a seat in the middle. I learned from experience that the reckless driving tended to affect the movement of beds/seats in the middle of the bus the least. I collapsed onto the bed and watched the lights of more houses fly past me as the bus rushed past them. My eyelids felt heavier and heavier, and at times I'd find myself wake with a start.

We came to an abrupt stop, and I was thrown sideways, nearly falling off the bed. I was definitely awake now. When I finally managed to sit upright, I saw a head of messy black hair coming up the steps. When the full body that belonged to said head appeared, and started walking down the aisles towards me, I had to smile.

"Evans!" called none other but James Potter.

"Potter, hey!" I greeted back. James being James, sat at the end of the very bed I was sitting on.

"Potter, get your own damn bed, you oaf."

"Going back to the formalities of enemies and using last names, are we?"

"You started it."

He paused. "True." He paused again, looking at the mug in his hands that he probably bought for insert-number-of-sickles-here. "Chocolate?" he then asked, offering me the mug.

"James, it's July."

He laughed a little, whether at my remark or at the fact that I used his first name now, I wasn't sure.

"So?"

"Usually people drink hot chocolate in the winter when it's cold, not when it's 85 degrees outside."

"Hey, I wanted some hot chocolate. Aren't I free to drink hot chocolate if I want to?"

"Yeah, but sane people don't drink hot chocolate when it's warm outside already."

"Okay, you're right. I bought the hot chocolate because I thought the girl in the front was cute. I couldn't help myself."

I rolled my eyes. "_Such_ the gentleman."

"Girls like nice guys. Especially guys who spend money on them."

"James, you were buying it _from_ her, not buying it to _give_ to her."

"Still, girls like guys who buy stuff, whether _from_ them or _for_ them, it doesn't matter."

"Is that your new way of flirting now? Getting girls by buying stuff they may be selling?"

"Possibly." His eyes brightened. "Why, Lily, are you jealous?"

I nearly fell off the bed again. He _did not_ say what I thought he did. There was no way.

"WHAT?" I managed to choke this out because I was about to laugh hysterically.

"You seem to be fixated on how I was flirting with the conductor girl."

"I am NOT jealous and I could care less if you and the conductor girl were making out right now, as long as it wasn't on _my bed_." I glared at him, trying to give a subtle hint that I wanted him _off_.

He didn't get it. He smiled at me instead, and said casually, "You know, Lily, if you were the conductor instead, I'd probably buy hot chocolate, _and_ a toothbrush from you."

I grabbed a pillow from the bed and chucked it at him.

.x.

An hour had passed, and the bus was still rumbling along, except not as jerky and abrupt as before, because we were driving along the lonely streets of the countryside. The hum of the bus was like a lullaby, and James was sleeping in my bed. The stupid moron could've gotten his own bed and passed out there, but he refused to budge after I threw the pillow, claiming it was appropriate punishment. Of course, I tried pushing him off and I almost succeeded, but then he flipped over onto his stomach and lay down, so it'd be harder for me to push him, and he immediately fell asleep.

But the funniest thing was the fact that I didn't really care that James Potter was slightly snoring while he lay sprawled over my bed, even if I was bunched into a little corner of space.

His black hair was as messy as ever, as incorrigible as he was. His mouth was frowning slightly, his eyebrows furrowed a little, and his glasses askew. I quietly took off his glasses for him and put them on the table beside my bed. I was confused by his frown. This definitely did not seem like James Potter. I would have thought that he would be smiling broadly in his sleep, dreaming of the pranks he would play with Sirius, Remus, and Peter. But no, he was frowning as if something was bothering him and he was trying to figure it out, but it wasn't working. I would have started laughing if it hadn't worried me so much—James Potter, being serious? It was inconceivable!

_You give him too little credit_, warned a voice in my mind. _The times when he was the most serious were the times you were the silliest and most flippant._

I remembered. I remembered his face, earnest and pleading, hopeful and waiting. I had been laughing hysterically and smiling like he was joking. And I could tell he wasn't, but I had to think he was so that I'd feel better.

So I'd feel better. How nice it sounds, once I actually voiced it. Yes. I had been flippant and presumptuous. And I felt a blush start to creep across my cheeks at my behavior, and I had to look away from his face, remembering how he had frowned when I gave my answer back then.

_"Lily, will you go out with me?"_

_"You must be joking, James."_

_"Why would I be?"_

_"Because you don't like me. Because we're just friends."_

_"And how do you know I don't like you?"_

_"Because you don't. I mean, come on, you were staring at that girl just a few minutes ago."_

_"Lily, I've liked you ever since third year."_

_"That's bullshit."_

He had stared at me, his eyes confused and shocked, and I had run away, mumbling some excuse, trying to tell myself he was just pulling another prank. That the look in his eyes was feigned and he'd laugh about it later with Sirius, _She told me, "'That's bullshit!' What a way to reject a guy, eh? I hope no person ever actually asks her out and means it!_

Feeling guilty and trying to conciliate, I smoothed away the wrinkle between his eyebrows, and tried turning his frown into a smile. There. That looked more like the James Potter I knew. He stirred a little, and gave out a little sigh.

He was a funny person, James. He had this way of charming you even though you were super pissed at him, and you couldn't help but smile at his jokes and forgive him. But on the occasions when he got serious, he was inscrutable. You didn't exactly what was going through his eyes, and when he looked at you during those few times, it was almost like he was looking past you, thinking of something else.

Sometimes, I wish I could just peek into his mind and see what was going on, past all the ordinary, mundane stuff that he was famous for, and into the place that no one really knew about. His thoughts, his feelings, his soul, his character, his hidden faces—I wanted to _know_ them all. It sounded a little weird to say that James, who was seen as open and carefree, was one of the most mysterious people I had ever met.

I liked James. I thought he was funny and smart and intelligent. But I also disliked him at times—I hated how sometimes, he never really tried, simply because he didn't feel like it. I hated it when he was complacent and so smug about himself. Those were the times I wanted to shoot him the most. I hated when he was trying to be annoying in that penetrating kind of way on purpose. I hated how he thought that the world should be served to him on a silver platter, how he played pranks on the Slytherins simply because he hated them, with no true reason. And how he didn't care that people got hurt and didn't care that he was wearing the teachers down to the point where they almost didn't care anymore. And I hated how he took advantage of that.

He may've grown up, but some of his old self was still there, as irritating and prick-ish as ever.

But I guess I myself was annoying just by trying to change him, and make him something else, or making him only part of himself.

Still, one can dream, right?

To be perfectly honest, I had a crush on him last year. Which, I guess, made me all the more determined _not_ to like him and to get over him and to _not_ go out with him. I wasn't quite sure why—maybe because I didn't want James to get the satisfaction that all his nagging and obstinacy and doggedness finally worked, because it hadn't. I didn't want him to think that he had finally worn me down, like the teachers. Or maybe it was because I knew that our personalities just didn't match—I flew into a temper too easily, and he knew just exactly how to cause that to happen, and did it, too.

I looked outside again. Nothing but darkness and stars way up in the sky. And the moon. I loved the moon. I loved how if you stared hard enough, you could get a feel of who she really was, the nuances in shading and luminance. My favorite was when she was a crescent, waning into a new moon, but not yet halfway there. It reminded me of…well, me. Torn between hiding and remaining conspicuous for everyone to see. Trying to decide whether I loved the world or wanted to run away from it. Torn between the past and the future, hanging frozen in the present. The moon, she understood that everything was different but the same, where everything was a ritual in some way. Sooner or later, the end reached the beginning to make a cycle.

Sometimes, if you stared hard enough, you could see a lighter shade of black in a circle to complement the crescent and make the whole shape of the moon. I liked to think that it was the moon's own essence refusing to be defeated by the earth, and tried to still stand out from the darkness of the night. Even if the rest of her was trying to hide away.

How funny it was, the way they called the non-existent moon the "new" moon. Almost as if to be new in life, you had to start completely over, strip down to nothing and build yourself from there.

Would that mean if we wanted to start over with the world, to make it new and young and pure again, we'd have to get rid everyone? Wait for the world to cave in? Was that why God had supposedly sent that flood? Was that His way of clearing the way and making everything new again?

How odd it was to think about these things. But it made sense—when I had gone to Hogwarts for the first time, I felt like I was a new person trying to get used to new things. Because everything I had known was gone, except for me, myself.

A loud snore from James abruptly scattered all my thoughts. And I started giggling. I couldn't help it—it was so funny. Eventually, his louder snoring got annoying, and I pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping that it would do something.

It didn't.

I poked him, trying to get him to wake up, but all he did was turn over to his side. At least he had stopped snoring now.

It took out my journal from my backpack, and rummaged around for a pen.

_Dear twenty-year old self_, I scribbled down. This was how I addressed it (rather, myself) sometimes. Because I knew sooner or later, I'd come back and read everything I wrote. And it had a nice ring to it.

_My current situation: just awoken from reminiscence and deep thought by snores of James Potter, who is sleeping on my bed._

That sounded funny. _James Potter is sleeping on my bed._ In the weird world of today, if I said that, people would've immediately assumed I had slept with him. I smiled, thinking about Mai and Christina's reactions if I had told them James Potter had been sleeping in my bed.

_Me: Hey Christina._

_Christina: LILY! Man, I haven't seen you in ages. What's up?_

_Me: James slept in my bed last night._

_Her: Uhm…what?_

_Me: Yeah._

_Her (tries to find an explanation that doesn't implicate what she thought happened): Oh! But you weren't there, right? You weren't on the bed with him?_

_Me: Yeah, I was._

_Christina: YOU WERE? LILY! WHAT'D HE DO TO YOU? Did he drug you into it?_

_Me: Uhm, no. It just kind of…happened._

_Christina: WHY ARE YOU LYING? WHY ARE YOU PROTECTING HIM?_

_Me: I'm not. Really._

_Her: You'd never do anything as stupid as that. You know better, Lily. Tell me what he did._

_Me: Nothing, Christina. Honestly._

_Her: HE CONVINCED YOU TO COVER FOR HIM! When I lay my hands on that bastard…_

_Me: Hey Mai._

_Mai: LILAYYYY! squee hug How's it going, man? Didn't do anything weird over the summer?_

_Me: James slept in my bed last night._

_Her: WHOA! Seriously?_

_Me: Yeah._

_Her: THAT'S SO FUNNY. Awwwww, Lily hun, you were always the most innocent out of all of us. But, y'know, CONGRATULATIONS. You did use protection, right? SAFE SEX, MAN. Screw abstinence, you already messed that one up. If you're going to do it, at least make sure you don't get HIV or something, or a baby. Unless you wanted a baby before you get married. But that's not cool, man, because that was my idea._

_Me: I didn't have sex with him._

_Her: Eh?_

_Me: I was sitting on my bed, and then we were talking, and then he passed out._

_Her: You were talking, eh?_

_Me: Maiiiii…._

_Her: Okay, okay, fine. You didn't have sex with James Potter. Even though you wanted to._

_Me: Maiiiii……_

_Her: Well, he's hot. I wouldn't go for him, but still. You wouldn't want to have sex with an ugly person, would you?_

_Me: MAAAIIIIII._

_Her: Okay, okay. Sorry Lily. Don't kill me, please, I don't want to die a virgin. Which, by the way, congratulations on your keeping of virginity despite the fact that there was a cute guy on your bed._

_Me: I hate you._

_Her: Awww, I love you too, Lily._

_(Pause)_

_Me: So you were really serious about having kids and then getting married?_

_Mai: Noooooo. I was just kidding. Kind of._

_Me: KIND OF?_

_Mai: Yeah, so, I went to this really awesome concert where the lead singer took his water bottle and sprayed it on us, and everyone was screaming and crowding to just get a drop, and I was wishing SO BADLY that he'd jump off or something so I could molest him._

_Me: Uhm…_

_Her: It's not fair—some lucky bitches in the front got to GROPE HIM. WHY COULDN'T THAT HAVE BEEN ME? sobs_

_Me: runs away_

It's funny, how different we are, but everything works out, and we're all happy. I think it's kind of cool, that we're friends because we are, not because we have interests to bind us together.

I love those two. Despite how…queer they are.

It's been me, Mai, and Christina ever since…well, second year, really. First year we were all busy being shy and not talking to anyone. But it was second year that we all shared a little room together. At first, we were all kind of awkward, since we didn't know each other and we were going to be _living_ together.

The ice between us all hadn't broken until that day when all three of us had walked down to the common room together. Bellatrix Black had been sitting there with the rest of her sycophants (and the people she scared into submission), and she had looked up at the three of us with pure malice and disdain.

"Well, well, if it isn't the little half-blood freak. And look! The little mudblood as well! They make the dynamic duo, don't you think, Darloy?"

Christina had blushed a little at the insults, but had said nothing, grabbing both of our hands and trying to move on.

"Why, Darloy. You've reached an all-time low. Sinking down to such a level, hanging out with _them_. It's a disgrace to your blood."

"I may have disgraced my _blood_, Black, but at least I haven't disgraced all of _humanity_."

Bellatrix had laughed. "Humanity? What humanity? Those two don't even deserve a human status." She sneered at me and Mai.

"Why Belly!" exclaimed Mai. "I didn't know you cared! How absolutely sweet of you! I don't know how to return such a compliment! I know! We'll invite you to our dynamic duo and we can become this terrific threesome! How's that? Doesn't that sound marvelous?"

You could have practically seen the saccharine hearts hanging around Mai's words. Bellatrix had looked at her in shocked disgust. The look on her face had been so funny, a mix of shock, anger, and a terror of Mai, that I couldn't stop but start giggling.

"Yes, Belly," I had said, still laughing a little, adopting Mai's _sweet_ little nickname, "please join us! It'll be perfect! One dark, twisted girl with two parents of magic blood, one twisted but not dark girl with one parent of magic blood, and one girl in general with no parents of any magical blood at all! It's perfect! Oh, please do, Belly, please do! It'll be ever so much fun!"

Bellatrix had cast a terrified look at me, as I was now smiling more broadly than ever. She gave us a contemptuous glare and spat the word, "Lesbians," before she had run out of the common room, all of her little group following her.

Mai, Christina and I had burst into laughter. There was just something about teasing a dark, sadistic girl that made you closer and come together inevitably.

"Wow," Christina had gasped. "What a homophobe."

"I'll say," Mai had agreed. "There's nothing wrong with gay people. They're just like to have sex with people of the same gender."

"Some people might consider that wrong," I pointed out. "And anyway, they don't like to _have sex_, necessarily. They just like the other gender."

"Have sex," Mai had insisted.

"_Like_." I had shaken my head.

"Either way, they'd like to do something with the same sex," Christina had said.

"Yay," I had added.

"Did you just say, 'Yay?'" Mai had asked.

"Yes. Yay."

"That doesn't make sense."

"Why not?"

"Because there's nothing to 'yay' about."

"It's a space-filler."

"You can't do that."

"Yes I can. Who says I can't?"

Mai had stared at me. Christina had looked thoughtful, and then had said, "She's got a point, y'know."

Mai had looked around aimlessly, as if she hadn't been listening. "Oh my, is that a purple penis I see?"

"Uhm, it's a pillow, Mai."

"Right."

I think it was then we had realized that we would never find anyone as weird and as queer as us, the three people standing around the fireplace, staring at the crackling, dancing fire that couldn't stop giggling about our pointless conversation.

"I'm hungry," Christina had said suddenly.

"I'm _always_ hungry," Mai had said. She had always liked to get in the last word.

And this time, it had been my turn to grab both of their hands and lead them to the door, stumbling and giggling, out of the common room and into the Great Hall, finally comfortable with the two other people who shared my room.

Funny how this all came back to me now, on a dark train, hurtling into nowhere. We had been together for five years. It was hard to imagine that we only had one year left before we'd all go our separate ways and possibly never see each other again.

And James…I had known James a little less longer than I had Christina and Mai. James had introduced himself around two months after the Bellatrix incident.

I had been talking to Christina and Mai about this weird dream I had had the night before (something with octopuses and alligators and the game Clue), when suddenly Mai had muttered, "Don't look now, but James Potter's staring at you right now."

"Who?" I had tried to fight the urge to turn my head and turn in the direction Mai was indicating. I couldn't help but feel a little flattered that a boy was actually looking at me.

"James Potter. Y'know, of the Marauders."

I had turned around to look at the messy-haired boy she was indicating. "Oh." Not _so_ flattered anymore. James stared at almost _all_ the girls back then. Between him and Sirius, they probably had the whole school covered. And I hadn't liked James Potter very much then, because of his bragging, showy behavior and all.

James and Sirius had been arguing, and suddenly, James practically flew from his seat, as if he had been shoved out. He had scowled horribly at Sirius, who had merely waved his little fingers and smirked back.

He had started walking towards me.

"Hi, Lily," he had greeted me.

"Hi." I hadn't known whether to add "James," or "Potter," since I hadn't even known him, but he had said my first name, so I had decided to leave it out.

"Ithinkyou'reprettywillyougooutwithme?"

"Uhm, what?"

He had taken a deep breath, and had smiled charmingly, as if to regain his confidence. "I think you're pretty. Will you go out with me?"

I had smiled a little, to cover how fazed I was by his question. "Uhm, sorry, but I hardly know you."

"When we get to know each other, then?"

I had stared at his audacity and persistency. "I don't know…Let's just be friends first?"

"Okay." He had smiled broadly. And I had smiled back.

I now looked down at the same boy, five years older, still sleeping and passed out on my bed. I sighed loudly, and stirred the hair on his forehead. He still didn't move.

I sighed again.

I wanted to sleep. But I couldn't, because he was on my bed. And I know that I could've just gone onto another bed on the bus, but it was _my_ bed, I had claimed it first, and my stuff was all around it.

_You just don't want to give in to James Potter in any way_, said the voice of truth. I hated the voice of truth. I really did. Sometimes I wanted to throttle it and make it shut up so I could stop feeling like an idiot.

So _what if_ I didn't want to give in to James? There was nothing wrong with that, was there? It's not like it made me a _bad_ person. It made me stronger, actually, since I'd have to put up with his bull-headedness. And annoying personality traits. And stupid tendencies. But whatever.

I was _not_ going to move beds. I was _not_ going to give him the satisfaction in the morning that his stupidity had caused me to give up and move beds. I was _not_. And I wasn't going to sleep with him on that bed either, like he probably had wanted me to.

I was _not_. And just to spite him, I would stay in my bed, scrunched up in my corner, and I wouldn't lie down to sleep _at all_.

I sighed for the third time on the bus ride.

It was going to be a long night.


End file.
